


Trust Big Brother

by soy_em



Series: Wincestmas 2017 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker, Fluff, Gen, Huddling For Warmth, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 17:51:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13300104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soy_em/pseuds/soy_em
Summary: The Bunker is really, really cold. Dean has a plan.





	Trust Big Brother

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SinnamonSpider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinnamonSpider/gifts).



The Bunker is motherfucking freezing. It’s not that Dean is averse to the cold (he prefers it to sticky soft heat of the south), but there’s cold and then there’s _cold._ Tonight, the weather monitor on their 1950s super-computer is showing that its only 5 degrees farenheit outside, a temperature that Dean is sure shouldn’t even be allowed exist. The Bunker has heating, sure; but its all concrete and high ceilings, and even with every radiator blaring at high power, Dean’s still shivering under three jumpers.

“Maybe we should burn some of the Letters stuff,” he says, teeth chattering. “Like the Steins.”

Sam frowns at him. “We never know what we’ll need, Dean,” he says severely, or as severely as he can under his own jumpers, with fluffy mittens strapped to his hands. 

“Well we can’t stay like this.”

Sam purses his mouth, but he doesn’t disagree. 

***

Sam perches on the countertop as Dean cooks up some chilli, hoping the spice will transfer some warmth to their insides. Sam’s swapped his mitten for some gloves, and he’s typing frantically away on his laptop. 

“What are you up to?” Dean asks, as he stirs.

“Trying to find a hunt somewhere warm,” Sam replies, hair falling in front of his face. 

“Any luck?” 

“No.”

Dean clicks his tongue. “To be honest, we’d probably freeze to death driving anyway,” he points out.

Sam pouts a little, looking so morose that Dean’s heart clenches. He knows full well why Sam doesn’t like the cold; and makes a mental note to invent a hunt in Florida soon if they can’t find anything else. 

“Here you go.” He hands Sam a steaming bowl of chilli and rice, served up with an equally hot mug of coffee, and they huddle around the kitchen table, shovelling food into their mouths with clumsy hands. Sam’s nose is an angry red as he eats, snuffling miserably, and Dean wracks his brains to think of a solution. 

It’s not until he’s scraping the last lukewarm spoonful out of the bowl that he has an idea.

“Go have a warm shower, Sammy, and I promise it will be better after that,” he says, taking Sam’s empty bowl and shooing him gently out of the kitchen. Sam looks unconvinced, but he lets himself be herded towards the big bathroom all the same. 

*** 

Dean remembers a winter many years ago, when they’d been small enough that Sam had still owned a pair of footie pyjamas. They’d been living in a little house in Minnesota, just outside of the main town, as so many of their houses were. Their Dad had caught wind of a hunt, and hightailed it out of town, leaving Dean with more than a week’s provisions and strict instructions to stay near the house. But John hadn’t anticipated the sudden drop in temperature that had left the Winchesters freezing, and Dean had struggled to find a way to keep them warm during the long, dark evenings. He’d only hit on a solution by chance, while trying to keep Sam occupied; but it’ll work now, too.

He puts in a half an hour’s solid work in his room, knowing that Sam won’t come out of the shower until he absolutely has to, because hot water is one thing they have in abundance. He’s finished by the time he hears Sam’s feet thumping down the corridor, and he slips outside the door to catch Sam before he has time to knock. 

“Right, Sammy,” he says, unable to keep the beaming smile from his face. “Go and get everything you’ll need for this evening, and then come back. You’re not leaving this room again unless its to piss.”

Sam gives him a look of utter disdain. “How is your room going to be any warmer than anywhere else?” he asks. 

“Trust big brother, and do as you’re told,” Dean says, smug. “Off you go.” Once again, he gives Sam a gentle shove. Sam rolls his eyes but obeys, shaking his hair out a little before he goes so that water droplets fly onto Dean’s face. 

He’s back a few minutes later, clutching his laptop to his chest and trailing another jumper behind him. 

“Good!” Dean praises. “You ready for this?”

Sam just rolls his eyes again, his shoulders shivering. Dean decides to take that as excitement.

“Here you go!”

He throws the door open, revealing the changes he’s made to his room, and Sam peeks his head inside.

Sam’s bark of laughter is music to Dean’s ears. “Dean, did you build us a blanket fort?” he asks, pulling back to look at Dean.

“Damn right,” Dean answers. “Hop in.” He gestures expansively towards the elaborate blanket construction in the middle of his room. 

Sam takes a moment to examine the fort. Dean had pulled his precious mattress off the bed and onto the floor (Sam should be _so_ grateful for that), and used every musty old blanket they’d found in the Bunker to create a roof for it between his bedframe and his chest of drawers. He’d placed all their torches strategically inside, so that the fort glows a little; and added every pillow and cushion he could find to make a nest. 

To his delight, Sam quickly drops to his knees and crawls in. He’s soon laughing as he finds what Dean had placed inside. 

“Beer? In a blanket fort?” 

“Yup,” Dean replies, pleased. “Beer. And snacks. And those hot water bottles we found. And coffee in the thermos.”

Sam’s head peeps back out of the opening.

“Well, are you coming in or not?” he asks, and Dean doesn’t need to be asked twice. He flips the light off, and slides in alongside Sam.

“Shuffle up,” Dean says, waiting until Sam’s settled against pillows shielding them from the concrete wall behind the fort. Sam wriggles about an awful lot, getting comfortable, but he’s finally still. Dean shuffles until he’s comfortable as well, and then pulls both their duvets on top of them, carefully tucking them in under Sam’s chin. It means they’re under the covers together, even though they’re not touching; and he hopes it will be enough to spread some warmth through their chilled bones. 

Sam hums in satisfaction, eyelashes drifting closed as he slides down a little further. 

“Warm?” Dean asks. 

“Warmer,” Sam replies, quietly. “Getting there.”

“Good. Thought we could watch a movie, have a beer. The blankets should keep the heat in better.” He waves a beer towards Sam, watching in amusement as Sam tries to decide whether its worth sticking a hand outside the covers or not. Eventually, thirst appears to win out, as Sam’s hand just barely extends. 

It’s the work of a moment to get the laptop switched on and propped up, the theme tune to Raiders blaring out of tinny speakers.

As the movie progresses, Sam sinks further and further into the blanket-nest. Dean can feel the heat starting to build, finally, in the enclosed space he’s made; and he can see Sam’s eyes starting to droop accordingly. Carefully, he snags Sam’s second bottle of beer from his lax fingers, setting it carefully to one side before pulling the covers back over Sam’s hand. Raiders is coming to an end, so he leaves it to play out, knowing the sudden cessation in sound might do more to wake Sam than leaving the film to come to a quiet stop. 

Sitting back against his own pillows, he smiles to himself, pleased with his solution. He’s hidden breakfast in the fort as well, alongside the unused coffee thermos; so there’ll be no need for them to leave the little space until well into the next morning.

***

Dean wakes slowly in the middle of the night, feeling warmer than he has in days. He listens for a moment, alert to the possibility that some half-sensed danger has woken him; but after a couple of minutes he’s satisfied that there’s no risk. 

It takes him a couple more syrup-thick moments to work out what woke him, but when he does, he can’t help but smile. Sam’s rolled so he’s tucked into Dean’s side, head under Dean’s chin; and Dean thinks it must have been Sam throwing his arm across Dean’s stomach that disturbed him. Sam’s wrapped around him like an octopus, the way they’d always slept when they were little; and Sam still gives off the same heat he always has. 

Feeling overwhelmed with affection for his little brother, Dean tucks the covers back around them. He desperately wants to stay awake, to savour this rare moment of peace; but he’s back asleep within minutes, lulled by familiar smell of Sam’s hair and the steady beat of Sam’s heart against his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Come check out my [Tumblr](https://soy-em.tumblr.com/).


End file.
